


Crimson Crisp and Cinnamon

by dizzy



Series: Kansas [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows "Somewhere to Begin"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Crisp and Cinnamon

Vala shows up on Cam's doorstep with a bag full of groceries.

Cam's not sure where to even start with the questions.

She breezes past him, all sunshine and bubblegum lipgloss, long pale legs smooth and beckoning in her summer shorts. He really needs to talk to Carter about restriction Vala's shopping options.

He follows her into the kitchen. "What are you doing here? What are you doing off base? Did General Landry approve this? How did you get here?"

"One question at a time, Colonel," she says, and he winces at the tone because it might be easy on the surface but she only calls him Colonel these days when he's in the doghouse.

"Okay. Then answer once of them." He watches her start to remove things from the full paper sack.

Flour, a clear plastic bag of apples, cinnamon, sugar.

"I came in a car," she says with a wide smile.

"Who drove that car?"

"A lovely man named Enrique."

"You took a cab?"

"Yes."

He's not sure exactly how many answers he's going to be able to pry out of her. Her patience is not limitless. Actually, it's rather... limited, even at the best of times. She's good at non-answers and she's good at getting you so frustrated that you forgot what you were even asking to begin with. That second one is what gets Cam more often than anything.

He settles on, "Why?"

She look at him, face lighting up, and he's still gonna need to know the details (just to try and save both of their asses from the wrath of General Landry) but that smile makes him glad he chose the right question. "Because I want to make a pie."

*

He makes a quick call to Jackson, because Cam might have his issues with the man where Vala is concerned but Daniel Jackson understands better than anyone else how Vala can be. He agrees to cover for them, and if he ends the call under the impression that Cam is bringing her right back to base... well, easier to smooth over that mislead than what would happen if he got caught letting the resident alien thief play hooky.

Resident alien thief.

He looks at her standing in his kitchen dressed in earth clothes, hair pulled back into a ponytail, humming something he's sure she heard on the radio.

She's not alien at all to him anymore, and that should be more unsettling than it is.

*

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

"So what kind of pie are we making?"

She bites her lip and looks at him with hopeful eyes. "Really?"

"Well, you've already started," Cam says, and he puts a hand on the small of her back, feeling the heat of her skin through the little shirt. "So we might as well."

"Your mother gave me a recipe," Vala says excitedly. "I wrote it down."

She brandishes a sheet of paper, pink stationary with little kittens on it. Vala's writing is careful, neat and concise, not what he'd except. Then again, he thinks, Vala probably didn't grow up doodling hearts and boys names on her schoolbooks.

He really has no idea how Vala grew up. He doesn't know if she was a happy child or a troubled one, if her parents loved her and nurtured her or if she was on her own, if she grew up on a Goa'uld oppressed homeworld or somewhere more peaceful. There's so, so much about her that he doesn't know.

He slides his hand around to curve against her hip and stands close enough that their sides touch. "So what do you need me to do?"

*

Thirty minutes later, they're sliding a pie into the oven. His countertop is littered with apple peels and cores, a fine dusting of the various powdered or crystallized ingredients covers almost everything, and there's a bowl full of crust remnants and dirtied utensils sitting in his sink.

Vala has a smear of white along her cheek, and when he reaches a hand to wipe it away all he does is smear it with glittery cinnamon.

He laughs. "That didn't work."

"No?" She tilts her head and tries to scrub at it with her own palm. "That?"

He shakes his head, and then leans forward impulsively and brushes his lips over it. He licks them afterward, tasting sweetness, tasting her. She's looking at him expectantly, only he's not sure... well, he's just not sure.

"Vala..."

"You've never kissed me here," she says, moving backward. She sits on his kitchen table, feet dangling. "Am I your dirty little secret, Colonel Mitchell? Because I don't mind, but I'd rather-"

"No," he says, almost forcefully. "But you..."

"I?" She lifts an eyebrow at him.

"You and Jackson..."

She tilts her head and almost smiles. "Cameron, I assure you, Daniel and I are not..." The smile widens, creasing her face. "I have never made a pie with Daniel."

"But you... wanted to," Cam frowns. That much he feels certain of. At least... he thinks. Maybe? Or is he wrong? Suddenly, he's not so sure.

She shrugs. "What I've wanted to do is my concern, not yours. What I am doing is your concern... because I've made it yours."

"I'm not sure I follow."

She sits up straighter and some of the pretense of humor slips. "I'm here."

He does follow her now. "Not there."

"Right," she nods, and glances down. He follows that glance and sees her fingers grasping at the edges of the table. It's the only sign of nerves that she exhibits but her hands seem so strangely vulnerable like that, white-knuckled, tight.

Something rises in his chest, in his throat. He has no idea how much in her life she's had to be sure of. He has no idea if he can make anything better for her or if he's just fumbling in the dark. He has no idea if she wants a white knight or if she's perfectly happy making it like she has been for this long.

But she held his hand when they ice skated, and she came here tonight to make his momma's pie for him, and he's been head over heels with her for longer than he's comfortable admitting, so he wants to try.

"Good enough for me," he says.

*

She curls up on the couch beside him, her slice of pie reduced to golden smears on the white ceramic of the plate. She's got one hand on her stomach and her head resting on his shoulder. "That was delicious."

"But you shouldn't have had four slices," he teases.

She takes his hand and places it over her stomach instead of her own. "It hurts."

"I know, honey," he murmurs, rubbing her stomach in slow circles. "Want me to go get you something to make it better?"

She shakes her head. She's drowsy, fighting sleep, and he really should take her back to the base - Jackson's gonna be livid - but he likes this too much to let it go just yet.

"You know, you make a good pie," he says, reaching out to drag his finger through the gooey filling that dribbled out between bites. "My mother would be proud."

"Really?" She sounds inordinately pleased. "Will you tell her that my pie was good?"

He shakes his head. "I'll let you tell her yourself next time we see her."

The promise implied in his words makes Vala smile.


End file.
